


the light of home

by Burgundyrose



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/F, pretty gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-11 16:52:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5634037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Burgundyrose/pseuds/Burgundyrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rose and Kanaya fall in love over Shakespeare, lipstick, and getting woken up at six in the fucking morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the light of home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



You’re bored.

“Yes, but the intertextuality used by the author guarantees that-"

“On the other hand, the alliterative prose of-“

“-and the homoerotic subtext-“

 You perk up a little here, but stop listening again when you realize that said subtext isn’t between women. You joined this English class because you like analyzing books, but you when you realized that the genres of your choice probably wouldn’t feature, you lost interest fairly quickly. You still study, but your heart’s not really in it anymore. You don’t have the confidence to take a class that exclusively studies horror or romance either.

To be honest, you probably prefer your part time job as a florist over studying for an English major. You’re not really the type to get into the intense debates that happen on a fairly regular basis, though, and during them your thoughts tend to stray. Rather than focus on the lessons, you’ve found a new distraction.

There’s a girl two desks away from you who gets into an argument with almost everyone in class, but her voice is full of restraint whenever she does. It’s as if she’s ensuring she’s speaking calmly, as she knows that’s how you win votes and garner respect. It’s a technique you’re unfortunately familiar with, as you’ve heard the ‘she’s just on her period’ excuse far too many times. While her ‘opponent’ may be spitting curses at her, and probably getting more attention, she’d look like the sensible one. Sometimes she still goes for personal insults, though.

Usually you don’t listen in to what they’re saying, and instead watch her lips move – they’re painted with a dark purple today – but today you notice a faint redness to her cheeks, and a furrow in her brow that suggests this topic may actually matter to her. You catch the word ‘mothers’ being thrown through the air, and sit up straighter. Not to brag, but you wrote a five thousand word essay on this topic, and you Know Your Shit. However, before you can participate, the teacher seems to notice the tension and changes the topic.

The girl – you’re pretty sure her name is Rose – doesn’t relax, and instead begins furiously writing. You think that there’s probably more stabbing motions than copying notes should involve, and you contemplate Maybe-Rose a little longer.

Despite how quickly she’ll argue with the entire class, and despite how often she wins these debates, she doesn’t actually seem to pay that much attention in class. It’s a little annoying, as she seems to understand everything the teacher says with ease, while you have to constantly focus and battle boredom.

To make matters worse, she’s been distracting you more and more lately, as it’s so easy to see what she’s doing on her computer. Usually, it’s just cat videos, which seem to be just as enticing to her as to everyone else in the world, but sometimes there’s weirder stuff. One time she just watched cat videos for an entire two hour lecture, which you didn’t really understand. You could allow one or two indulgences in the genre, or maybe a twenty minute binge, but two hours?

Or she’s watching Gothic movies, or indie remakes of classical literature, or Gothic remakes of classical literature. Sometimes her screen is filled with occult stuff, too, which is another thing you don’t get. Additionally, she doesn’t seem to care about reading fanfiction in class – which you really could never do, ever – and almost parades the fact that she’s not even listening and still doing better than you. It’s antagonizing to say the least, but when you watch her watching makeup tutorials it’s hard to stay angry. You’re not allowed to bring your laptop to class, and you’re thankful for a distraction you can actually appreciate. The fanfiction’s font is too small anyway for it to be a legitimate distraction.

Sometimes you think she’s caught you looking at her, at which you have to awkwardly swivel your head around and pretend to be fascinated at something else, like the ceiling – listening to the lesson would be less believable. You’re not sure how well you convince her.

It doesn’t help that once you both laughed at the same time in class during a spectacularly unfunny discussion (Your defense is that the kitten in the video was being really cute). She looked right at you, smiled, and then played another. Yeah, you’re not fooling anyone.

The day after the Incident you decide you might try to casually talk to her, maybe see if she was okay after whatever happened yesterday. You’re sitting there, watching the back of her head way too intently for anything you decide to do to be casual, and watch her head twitch slightly in your direction. It’s like this girl has a sixth sense. You see her swap her notepad for her laptop, and quickly type something. You feel as if she knows you’re watching, and so it would be rude to look away when she so clearly wants you to see something. That makes sense.

It just looks like she’s scrolling through Buzzfeed for a bit, to be honest. What are you meant to be looking at here? She tilts her laptop screen back as if adjusting for light, and the sudden gleam reveals her article of choice: This Is How To Tell If Someone Is Gay.

You’re not sure if you should look away. Before you can, she turns around and looks you directly in the eye.

Your mind defaults to white noise, and you feel an almost irrepressible urge to apologize, but she distracts you with a single flirty wink.

_What._ You can’t think of an appropriate response - aside from your mercifully unnoticeable blush - and decide to look away and fidget uncomfortably for the rest of the lesson. Your thoughts shamefully imagine more obvious flirtations but you shake them out of your head.

_Focus_ , Kanaya. Was that even directed at you?

Maybe it was meant for the rather sweaty student next to you; a Buzzfeed article doesn’t confirm sexuality. You quickly appraise him; His sneakers and gym socks don’t seem exactly her type. No, she always waltzes into class immaculately dressed in whatever seems to be the latest Gothic fashion. However, perhaps the boy was her style; the rather elusive contents of her satchel - on the rare occasions you’ve seen them - are always horrendously disorganized.

It’s a curious contrast to her perfectly outlined lips - _focus_ \- and the clean pleats of her skirts. Sometimes you find yourself guiltily fantasizing about cleaning out about the moldy sandwiches you’ve spotted on more than one occasion, or perhaps just buying her a new bag altogether and praying, but you doubt she’d ever let you get away with it. Still, on the rare day when the flap of her bag slips open, and the unmistakable scent of chaos fills the room, you have to complete a few calming exercises. One time a lipstick fell out – _without a lid_ – and you watched it bounce off of the floor, collecting dirt and who knows what else, only for Rose to just shove it back in there. You had to leave the room.

It’s not as if you’re a ‘clean freak’, despite what you’ve heard, but you’re used to cleaning up after people. One of your old friends - who you’d rather forget - designated you the Mom Friend, and you’ve never really forgotten it. Except, you don’t even know this girl. She’s just a stranger, and you really shouldn’t be having urges to clean up after her – or at the very least, _help_ her. You feel like that’s crossing the line into creepy.

You leave without talking to her. She doesn’t follow you when you brush past her.

 

.

 

The library seems different at night; quieter, you suppose.

That’s not to say that the library isn’t usually quiet, as the librarian is pretty diligent about keeping the noise levels to a minimum. No, perhaps quieter isn’t the right word. Lonelier? The dust has certainly settled from that day’s escapades, and some of the lights are flickering slightly, taunting you with the possibility of darkness.

You’d really prefer it if the lights didn’t decide that today was the day they were finally going to break. The librarian’s been complaining for months about it, but of course the funding isn’t amazing. Plus, it’s not as if all the lights flicker. Just the ones in the young adult novel section, or, more specifically, the sordid vampire novel section. _Sigh._

It’s not that you’re ashamed of your choice in literature - okay, you definitely are - but when you’re doing an English major and asked what your favorite book is, you can’t exactly answer with the latest vampire romance when your peers are saying _The Iliad_ . It just doesn’t create a good impression. Your eyes skim past _Twilight_ , and guiltily linger over it for a few moments more.

The book that brought vampires into fashion quickly and then back out of it even quicker. You can’t deny you had a small fling with it, or maybe a year long love affair, but it’s pretty much the reason you can’t say you like vampires anymore. What kind of vampire even _glows_ , anyway? Or glitters. It just doesn’t seem realistic. Then again, maybe it’s just the criteria needed for this glittering that bothers you. I mean, who needs to glitter during the day? Everything’s pretty enough as it is, thank you very much. If you could become your own personal night light, though, and be able to get over this stupid fear of yours, it would be a much better ability.

Finally you find the book you were looking for, and just grasp the edges of _Carmilla_ right when the lights go out. Your shoulders seize up, and your heart starts beating a little faster. Speak of the devil and it shall appear, you suppose.

Fuck. Don’t think about any devils right now, okay?

Well, at least you have a copy of the only combination of vampires and lesbians you’re aware of in your hand to use as a weapon, right?

You hear small movements a few aisles away, and realize you’re not alone. You thought you were the only student allowed night access - a cruel twist of fate as you didn’t really like doing anything at night - but you guess someone else was too. Or it’s a murderer. Whichever. This would be the absolute worst way to die, you think. Well, if not the worst, still a pretty mediocre death. Stabbed to death in a dark library. Scintillating stuff.

Actually, it does sound fairly interesting, like a detective novel, but _whatever_. You need to stop thinking and start actually trying to escape. The dark starts to close in around you, and suddenly moving doesn’t really seem like an option. Not when the library has lost its familiarity and has instead become unknown. Something could have moved from when you last looked. You wouldn’t even be able to know.

The only thing you’re really certain of is that there’s a wall of books behind you, so you back up against it so you just have to worry about protecting your front. Your neck feels oddly vulnerable. Nighttime 1, Kanaya 0. Crawling up into a ball seems embarrassingly attractive right now, but instead you practice some breathing exercises, and close your eyes.

“Hello?” A voice calls. It sounds almost worried. Or good at acting.

Okay, Kanaya, if a murderer is trying to ascertain your position with a cautious hello, you most definitely do not respond to them.

“Hello,” you say, because you’re an idiot.

“Oh thank god,” she says, “Let me come to you, okay? Which section are you in?”

Fuck. Try to think of something to say that _isn’t_ vampire romance.

“I’m not sure.” An absolute lie, since you know this section of the library better than anyone.

“It’s okay, my phone still has a bit of battery. I’ll just use its light and try to make my way over to you.”

You can hear her slowly stepping around the bookshelf between you, her nails scraping the spines as she goes.

“Could you say something?”

“I’m over here,” you call, and the light goes into your eyes for a moments.

“Found you.”

You can’t really see clearly, or at all, but you can hear her heels clacking down onto the woods and make assumptions anyway. The blue glow is too comforting to care about who the stranger is, and whether or not they’re a murderer with a long con.

She reaches out for your shoulder, and you see black nail polish.

“I guess we’re stuck in here together, huh?” The girl says, and you’d think she was winking if it wasn’t completely dark around her face.

“I guess. I wonder what happened.”

“Probably demonic interference. You know, same as usual.”

“And I suppose you were the one summoning them? Next time make sure no one else is in the same room as you when you’re beckoning spirits of the undead.”

“How was I to know I wasn’t alone? And they wouldn’t have been spirits, I’d go for nothing less than a Horrorterror itself.”

“Okay?” You say, a little confused. “No matter what demon it was, or would’ve been, I’m pretty sure the library wasn’t the right place for it. I’d rather thought they’d prefer abandoned buildings or a midnight sleepover between teenagers.”

“I’m trying to be a little original. Might get their attention more so than those who struggle with the same incantations and haunts.”

You see the shadow of a smile in the light. Her lips are black too.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but you weren’t actually trying to do that, right? The demon thing.”

“Kanaya,” she says chidingly, and you start, “Lying is the best way to meet new people. Besides, it always seems to allow the best conversations. I didn’t think I was hiding my exaggerations that skilfully, either. I assume sarcasm isn’t a hobby for you like it is for me?”

“No, I suppose it isn’t,” you say, equally sarcastically. “How did you know my name?”

“Oh, you’re in one of my classes. Nineteenth Century Lit with Mrs Poor Fashion Sense?”

“I think you mean Mrs Pritchett,” you correct, although in your mind you agree. Honestly, spots and stripes on the same cravat? Not to mention the crocodile skin purses. Suddenly you connect the dots.

“Wait, are you Rose?”

“What’s in a name, Kanaya?” She says smugly. “A rose by any oth-”

“Okay, wow, you can stop there. Do you say that every time someone asks for your name?”

“I can hardly resist myself. Just wait until Valentine’s Day.”

Rose, the girl in your class who you’ve been slightly possibly maybe obsessed with, is suggesting you’ll be around for a Valentine’s Day with her. And that she might get you flowers. Don’t even worry about it, Kanaya. It’s fine. You’re smooth, you’re hip, you’re ‘with it’.

You run a hand through your hand to emphasize just how cool and collected you are.

“So what brought you to the library at this late hour, Rose?” You ask with a very subtle change of topic.

“I suppose I could ask you the same.”

“I don’t see why I should answer first, but alright. I’ve been given permission from the English staffroom to do my research in here tonight. I needed more books than we were allowed to borrow, some of which are books we’re not allowed to leave the library with. The larger ones and such. And you? I wasn’t told there would be anyone else here. Or rather, I was explicitly told that no one else had been allowed to visit the library after hours but me.”

“I’m not actually allowed to be here,” she confesses. “I was trying to steal a book.”

You feel a stupid surge of pride that the teachers only trusted you to be here, before you catch up.

“Wait, aren’t you the school prefect?”

“Yes, and your point is?”

Well. Okay, then.

“I was under the impression that rules tended to work both ways.”

“I’m sorry to inform you that you have been sorely misled. I choose which rules to follow, and which I can discard,” she says with a small, wicked smile. “And of course which rules I have to enforce for everyone else. All of them, usually. As is permitted by my role as prefect.”

“That’s not actually how it works at all, but I suppose you’re being smug and ridiculous on purpose.”

“Au contraire, Little Miss Bodice-ripper. No one who actually knew me would ever deign to call me those things. It simply isn’t accurate.”

“Bodice-ripper?”

“Yes, unless I’ve mistaken your reason for dwelling among those of your kind.The term tends to mean a book where there’s a tragic, forbidden love, but everyone makes sure there’s time for lots of steamy sex. And judging by my knowledge of this library’s interior, I’m pretty sure that’s what you were reading.”

You fluster a little at such a direct line of questioning.

“What?” You say rather eloquently.

She shoots you a look. “And I thought you were meant to be studying. There’s no shame in knowing what you like, though.”

You can’t decide if this is really happening. She’s not done yet, though.

“Hmm. _Carmilla_? I wonder what led to that choice.”

That wasn’t subtle at all, you think. Wait, what is she implying? She doesn’t even know you.

“And what did you come here to read exactly? Something scandalous enough you had to come after dark, I suppose. Any shame in that? Or none, because apparently you’re free to judge strangers.”

Rather than blanch at your frustration, she smiles.

“I’m glad you asked.”

She holds up a thick tome you can only barely read in the dim light, and glimpse the words ‘Gl'bgolyb’ before her phone goes out again.

Luckily, her company seems to allow you reprise from your fear.

“It’s not exactly restricted section stuff, if you catch my drift, but I’d rather not have the librarians on my back. Plus, I think I’m going to keep this one.”

“ _This_ one?”

“Don’t worry, I don’t steal that many books. Just the ones I don’t want anyone else to read.”

“This is a _library_. That’s what they’re there for, unless everything I’ve ever known is actually a strange and confusing lie. Which, you know what, it probably is anyway.”

“Oh, I can assure you it is.” With that, she winks at you, and the way your pulse quickens is a little disconcerting.

This girl isn’t even your type. Actually, you amend, going through what traits your crushes usually share - reckless, hypocritical, beautiful, _dangerous_ \- she’s exactly your type. It’s quite difficult to make out her features, but interestingly her dark lips are the most prominent, contrasting attractively with the blue light of her phone. You wonder if she can see your own, if she can see that you’re wearing the same lipstick color. You don’t know why you want her to so much.

“What do you say we try and find the light switch, hmm?”

“I already know where it is,” you say, and she starts.

“What? Why didn’t you just turn it on, then?”

You don’t really want to explain this to her, so you just get up and pull her after you.

“Hold the light close to me, please,” you ask. “So that I can see.” you quickly add.

She doesn’t say anything, just obeys.

The two of you nudge closer to the entrance, where you know the power box is just a little to the left and behind a door. Rose stumbles over your feet, and you shine the light over her.

“Sorry, it’s just a bit hard to see when you’re holding the light.”

“How the tables have turned.”

She looks less than amused, so you take pity on her.

“Here, just walk a bit closer to me so you can see as well.”

Rose grabs your hand instead, and you heave her back onto her feet automatically. She doesn’t let go, so you decide to just guide her through the corridors yourself. Probably easier and less awkward than her clinging onto you, anyway.

Your palm is clammy against hers, and the warmth is a little uncomfortable even though you’re the one producing the sweat. She doesn’t seem to mind, and her thumb brushes over your fingers a little as you walk.

You pass the bean bags meant to lure lazy students into studying – you figured teachers didn’t really understand the primary appeal of beanbags – and go past the coffee machine. Rose makes an appreciative hum, and you smile despite the fact that you absolutely hate coffee. Your problem is usually with _falling_ asleep; you’d rather not consume anything that forces you to stay up longer than you absolutely need to. However, the idea of Rose with messy hair sleeping over papers while cold coffee lies forgotten to the side is pretty appealing. Maybe you would put a blanket around her shoulders, and take away the coffee. Or maybe you would take a picture and use it as revenge.

As you smirk at your own hypothetical mischief, Rose fumbles her way to the room with the power box.

“Okay, what now?” She asks, swinging the box open.

The two of you look down onto the switches.

“Well, this job definitely requires the intellect and skill of a highly trained rocket scientist, at the very least. One that the world trusts with this important duty.”

“But of course. And perhaps the military knowledge of an esteemed war veteran, brimming with experience?”

“They’d have to be a professional brain surgeon as well. One who can juggle at the same time.”

“I’d settle for nothing less, quite frankly.”

“Only someone of that mental caliber could possibly solve this conundrum.”

You manoeuvre the phone so it shines over the light switch with ON/OFF written in bold, and flick it on.

You look at each other.

“Oh,” you hear. You’re not quite sure which of you said it.

The two of you are much closer than you thought, with the small room’s walls pushing you together slightly. Not to mention your hands are still clasped between you, but that’s not the first thing you notice.

She’s really quite beautiful up close, you realize. You’d only ever seen her from across two desks, and even so you usually only saw the back of her head. Yet here, you can see her eyelashes casting shadows onto her flushed cheeks, the swell of her lips and the violet gleam of her eyes. The color is quite interesting, really. You’d thought for sure that they were contacts, yet they look as real as your own green ones. There’s small flecks of blue in them, and you wonder if they were perhaps a mutation of that gene. Her eyes are darting over your own face in return, and when they linger over your lips, you drop her hand in shock.

“Kanaya?”

“Yes?”

“Can I walk you home?”

You falter a little, and she hastily continues. “It could even be my penitence for stealing a book, if you like.”

Your eyes flit down at the heavy grimoire still in her hands.

“Or you could return it?”

“Isn’t one penitence enough, Kanaya? Would you have me paying for my sins for all eternity? Forever in debt to a library that doesn’t even have funding?”

“All the more reason to help it out, I should think. Helping those in need, and the like.”

“Ah, yes of course. Kanaya, you can be the one in _need_ , and I can help you out.”

You’re not entirely sure if you’re built to handle this amount of flirting. This seems over-the-top, at the very least. Or maybe you just don’t know enough about flirting? Either way, you think the point has been made.

She winks, and you’re reminded of that stupid Buzzfeed video. That stupid Buzzfeed video that had kept you sleepless longer than you liked.

“What?” You say. You’re on fire today.

“I can help you as my first good deed of the year. Would you like a ride home instead?”

“Oh. I don’t think that will be necessary, my sister’s picking me up anyway. Also, we’re kind of complete strangers. How did you know I couldn’t drive?”

“My car is the only one in the parking lot. Hence, why I thought I was alone.”

You guess that makes sense. You don’t think you can say the same for anything else about Rose.

“At the very least give me your phone number so I can know that you got home safely.” Rose looks almost genuinely worried, but it’s hard to tell. She seems like she could be a good actress if she wanted to. Or, you’re just overthinking it.

You quirk an eyebrow at her. “And you have absolutely no ulterior motives there?”

You’re pretty glad that your voice didn’t shake. When it doesn’t, you sound a lot more confident then you are. It’s convenient.

“Of course, not. This is simply friendly concern. A request from one pal to another.”

“Are we pals? I was not aware of this promotion from ‘strangers’. Whatever will the next tier of our relationship hold?”

“I believe the term you used was ‘kind of strangers’. And as for your question, I’d say gal pals.”

She laughs – at her own joke, no less – but you don’t even pretend to get it.

“I’m going to assume that joke took place on some level of humor other than the ones which I frequent, so we can move on.”

You give her your number, and feel a little bit weird about it. I mean, this is how people die, right? Maybe she’s the bait and then – actually, no, you’re pretty sure this is fine. This is what teenagers do. You are a teenager. You think that this is pretty water-tight logic.

“Thank you, Kanaya. I’ll see you in class tomorrow.”

“Goodbye.”

When your sister finally arrives, you’d been given enough time to mentally prepare yourself to be aloof and casual. You slide into the car, and look distant, staring vacantly out of the window as if there’s something on your mind but you’re not fretting about it. Everything is cool, you’re cool. You’re pretty sure you’ve seen someone do this in a movie. You think about that for a moment and realize that obviously this is not going to work.

“So, who’s the girl?” Porrim asks.

Well, you can’t say that you didn’t expect that. You spend the rest of the car trip talking to her about what giving each other phone numbers means, and what did that wink mean, until you get embarrassed by how much more experience Porrim has and you stop.

Luckily, your phone buzzes and you have a viable excuse to not talk about Rose anymore.

 

Okay, you think this is Rose.

You dress up her screen name to match.

 

 

 

You text back-and-forth for a while, until Porrim pulls into your house's driveway and you text Rose goodnight. 

 

.

 

You wake up and send Rose a good morning text. You’re not sure why you do this as it goes against basically everything Karkat told you to do when texting a girl, but whatever.

 

Yikes.

At a later time which one might more conventionally attach ‘morning’ to, Rose messages again and apologizes. You text back far too quickly, and spend the rest of the week-end talking with her.

Porrim must ask you a thousand times what you’re smiling at whenever you read the messages, but it’s hard to explain your very spirited discussion into the values of fanfiction. And later, it’s even harder to explain why you’re smiling when she’s just talking about her day, saying that she’s bored and describing her dinner to you with too much detail.

You tend to just tell Porrim that you’re just talking to a friend.

She doesn’t believe you.

(You don’t really believe yourself either.)

 

.

 

You’ve started daydreaming in class again. When you distantly hear the teacher dismiss you, as well as the much louder sound of somewhere around a hundred students pushing back their metal chairs, you look around and realize Rose must’ve left early.

Almost everyone is half out the door by the time you’ve stirred from your thoughts, and when you finish packing up your books in your bag, you’re the last one left. You silently leave the classroom, trailing your long velvet skirt behind you - you really hope the few stray cat hairs weren’t noticeable - only to be stopped right in the doorway.

“Hello, Kanaya,” Rose says, leaning against the frame and, presumably, trying to look seductive.

“Hello. Is there any reason you’re slowing my arrival to biology? I assume you think it’s more important than my attempt to best my record walking speed, but I can assure you, it is not.”

“I see that you take your sport very seriously, Kanaya. I apologize for offending your surprisingly competitive sensibilities, but I must insist that my need for your abilities is far more dire than the race’s.”

You’ve grown acquainted to her communication methods from your frequent texting, and you know that continuing this train of thought tend to derail quite quickly into pure and utter nonsense, so you decide to digress. Or rather, regress. Gress? You’re going to get back to the point, something you struggle to find even in your thoughts.

“What is it exactly that you need me for?”

“There is a shared world of knowledge between us, Kanaya, two graphical circles that intertwine ever so prettily betwixt our respective interests; a world wherein which-”

“Rose.”

She stops, and looks a little put off that her monologue was interrupted, but then shrugs.

“Okay, that’s fair. I want to know how the hell you did your lipstick like that. I was thinking about it all through class, but so far I haven’t settled on an answer apart from witchcraft or a Faustian bargain.”

“Given your literary interests, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised you think me a sorceress.”

“Or perhaps a simple human led astray and seduced by the dark arts?”

“A witch tired of the limitations of her sisterhood’s strict rules pertaining to cosmetics.”

“An enchantress given the forbidden incarnation of eternal beauty, only to be tortured by its results.

“A vampire who uses the blood of her enemies to brew fantastical lipstick hues.”

“A demon creating a color to outdo Lucifer’s first temptation? Or perhaps, to become his final and most potent one.” She smiles. “Eve wouldn’t stand a chance.”

You consider.

“Or maybe it’s just Maybelline. Anyway, I believe we’ve been inside this English classroom for too long. Or, at least, our minds are brimming with classical literature tropes for this godforsaken essay.”

“You’re probably right. You know, I can think of just the thing to take our minds off of it.”

Here she pauses, letting your mind descend a little into thoughts you’d rather not share. She smiles fiendishly, even though you’ve gone to great pains to hide your embarrassment from her. It’s just that she flirts _all the time_. There’s only so much you can prepare for. At least when it’s over the phone you’re allowed to hide your head in your hands and smile, but here you suspect that wouldn’t be appropriate.

“So, will you care to join me in the girl’s bathroom? I believe you’ve brought your lipsticks with you.”

You don’t know how she knows that, but you suppose it’s pretty common.

It’s only after you agree and follow her through the winding corridors, that you realize what you’re actually doing.

“Wait, I had Biology to go to,” you say, but Rose just tugs on your arm to keep walking. “But-”

“Your class was cancelled today, Kanaya. They had an announcement about it and everything.”

“Oh.”

You don’t know what to say to that.

“We literally walked past the door to the classroom a few minutes ago.”

“I think I get it.”

“You really didn’t know? I thought you were just making a joke. Are you telling me that I distracted you so much you forgot about class?” She winks at you, and you look away. “Or maybe you just wanted to skip class with me? Do you go for bad girls, hmm?”

You try to look away even harder.

“Uh,” you say. “That’s an interesting carpet design.”

You point somewhere at the floor while being pulled along, all while looking very elegant and coordinated of course, and Rose smirks.

“Hey, let’s talk about anything other than this. That’s a great idea, Kanaya. Thank you, Kanaya,” you say.

“Fine, fine. I may as well test your apparent expertise with cosmetics before I subject my face to your any tubes, brushes or powders you may possess. So, were you born skilled at the art of makeup, or were you someone’s apprentice?”

Thank god.

“My mother and sister showed me. That, and Youtube videos. What about you?”

“I suppose my mother also did, in a way. She wanted to teach me how to look my ‘prettiest’, so she showed me how to wear makeup in its most appealing way.”

“Appealing?”

“Yes. For men.”

“Oh.”

“I was also five.”

You don’t really know what to say, but then she continues.

“This resulted in me wearing jet-black lipstick and heavy eye-makeup well into my teenage years, of course.”

You look her up and down, at her still-black lipstick and predominantly black outfit.

“Of course.”

“Fine, I haven’t exactly grown out of it yet.”

“I don’t think you should have to. I mean, are you still wearing it to spite mankind, or do you like it?”

“It was more to spite my mother, but I believe the answer is yes to both of them.”

“Well, that shows a bit of an interest in it. Besides, it looks nice on you.”

“My mother always thought I would look better in pink. But thank you.”

“Well, if you wanted to switch up your lipstick colors, I think I have about every shade at home.”

“Are you inviting me over?”

“Yes. Was that not clear?”

“It’s a date then.”

You very purposefully ignore this.

“And you can bring over that essay you wrote about motherhood.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific.”

“The one that doesn’t feature the Oedipus complex.”

“Are you sure? Not to brag, but my teacher called it the best thing since sliced bread.”

“I don’t think I can emphasize enough just how sure I am.”

“Have it your way. Anything else I should bring? Alcohol? Drugs?”

You pretend to think about it.

“I’d have to say a firm no to those options. I’m not really the drinking type.” Rose takes on an odd, unreadable expression at this. Perhaps you weren’t meant to be honest so quickly, you think, as you continue being honest. “Maybe bring that eyeliner you use, though, mine has been less than satisfactory lately.”

You pray that she doesn’t make some kind of innuendo about satisfaction, and when she is mercifully silent, you begin taking out your makeup supplies.

“Wow.”

You think that’s a bit of an understatement, personally – you take a lot of pride in your appearance and have consequently built up a pretty impressive collection – but appreciate it nonetheless. Wait, unless that was sarcasm.

“I can’t tell if you’re actually awestruck,” you admit, pulling out some more lipsticks from your bag.

“No, no, I can assure you that that was genuine. Are these all just for that one look?”

“Yes, actually, I use a minimum of twelve lipsticks daily, and on a good day, twenty. Wait until you see my collection back home.”

You sneak a look at her, as you were hoping she might fall for the joke, but she’s not giving anything away.

“Twenty, you say? My, so many layers must mean it’s quite long lasting.”

“Of course,” you begin, before noticing a shift in her attitude. “Wait-“

“And I suppose it wouldn’t rub off easily at all. I’m afraid mine rubs off at the lightest kiss.”

“Well, then,” you say before stopping to swallow. “Let’s see how my lipstick fares.”

“I’d be delighted to find out.” Her lip quirks upward again, and you realise that she smiles around you almost constantly. At least, you think she does. Sometimes you’ll only catch the glimpse of a smile in your periphery, but after almost every word she says to you there’s another smile slips out. It’s…really nice. It’s as if she’s permanently happy to be in your company.

“Rose.”

“Yes?”

Once again you don’t know what to say.

“You, um. You have a very pretty smile.” You look away for a moment and reconsider. “That’s not to say your other features are ugly, or somehow less attractive, because they are at the very least equally pretty, but nonetheless in the current moment your smile was the most striking feature of yours. Of course, that doesn’t mean I value you purely for your looks, striking as they are, because of course, um, okay I seem to be repeating words here. I’m not distracted, okay, you can withhold any comments of that nature, I am perfectly capable of controlling my vocabulary in front of you, okay? Okay. Yes, no repeating whatsoever going on here. I’m basically creating my own language.”

You notice Rose giving you a Look, which usually means bad things.

“What I was meaning to say was that I happened to notice that your smile was quite pretty, as it is nigh perpetually, along with all your other facial features. I also admire your intellect, and I wish to assure you that this relationship is not built sorely upon the attractiveness of your lips.”

_There_ , you think. That was probably the best delivered compliment in all of history. Wait, what did you even say? You can’t really recall anything past what was originally planned – _You have a very pretty smile_ – but you’re pretty sure what came out of your mouth wasn’t what was planned. You distantly remember saying the word attraction, and hang your head in your hands.

Rose laughs, and pats you on the back.

“You’re almost worse than my step-brother. Now, Kanaya, tell me exactly when this rambling began.”

“It happens a lot when I’m flustered,” you say into your hands without thinking.

Rose _hmms_ appreciatively. “Yes, and how does that make you feel?”

She carefully pries your hands away from your face. You notice she has very pretty eyes, and your head is filled with curse words. Restrain yourself from your overwhelming gayness, Kanaya. Just for a little. You can do it. Think of the makeup.

“Thank you, Kanaya. Certainly one of the most…informing compliments I’ve ever received.”

“Absolutely no problem. Nothing wrong here, at all. I’m fine. Everything’s fine. No, I’m explaining this badly. It was my pleasure, Rose. Let’s hope it never happens again. If I recall correctly, and I probably do as it was basically a minute ago, I believe we were in the middle of something? Something other than discussing this? Wow, look, another carpet pattern.”

“Kanaya, you realize that you constantly bringing up carpets isn’t exactly a good save, right? If anything, you’re digging yourself a deeper hole.”

“What about I just say ‘Look, a distraction’ and for once it actually works? For example, let’s try this. Rose, look over there. Something is occurring both incriminating and intriguing. An investigation into the new and more interesting matter at hand is urgent, and requires an immediate upheaval and disposal of the current topic to instead explore a new and youthful direction.”

“I think that tangent turned into a business proposal.”

“You’d be surprised how often they do.”

“Back to the lipstick, then, I suppose?”

“Please.”

She brushes a hand over the many tubes.

“Are quite so many necessary for a simple school day?”

“Oh, I just tend to forget them in my bag. Besides, it’s nice to be prepared for any impromptu outfit changes.”

“Quite. Some of these are much more colorful than I would have suspected. Although, I suppose I have seen you in bright green lipstick.”

The colors you’re wearing today are green and black, thrown together in what you’d hoped was an ombréstyle, so you think Rose must be a little interested in brighter lipstick. Mixed with black, at least.

“Would you like me to give you the same colors, or?”

“Hmm…” Rose is probably mock-looking, as you think she’d already decided the color long ago. “What about a purple and black look? Or is that too Hot Topic for you?”

“Rose, some of your outfit choices seem constantly on the edge of being too Hot Topic for me, and yet here we are.”

“Quick to judge, Kanaya? How the tables have turned. Again.” She selects a lavender hue.

“I guess that’s a close enough shade to pink throw your mother off, right?” You joke.

“Yes,” Rose enunciates clearly and stiffly.

You decide to stay clear of discussing her mother any further.

“It should do perfectly.”

You pick out your darkest lip liner, and begin the arduous task of keeping a steady hand for long enough that the sophisticated look you’re going for doesn’t turn clownish. You really hate clowns.

After that, it’s a simple game of filling in the lines with lipstick, although the gradient means the difficulty is a little amped.

“Okay, can you purse your lips for me here?”

She obeys. A little bubble of spit has caught on her top lip, and you brush it away gently. You look up to gauge Rose’s expression, and she is looking at you like she wants to eat you.

“Uh. Rose? Forgive me for the stupid question, but are you okay?”

“Perfectly fine.”

Her voice is strained.

You decide to ignore it and lean in a little closer to clean up some lines with concealer, and hear her swallow. Hmm. You set down your tools.

“I’m done. Please hold your applause until-”

Rose grabs your face with her hands and abruptly kisses you, and your shameful first thought is that it’ll ruin the lipstick.

Her kissing style is...messy, but not inexperienced. The same can’t really be said of you, as this is arguably your first actual kiss (because it probably has to be reciprocated to count) but at least you have more control over your tongue. Not that her passion isn’t pleasant, it just isn’t beneficial to wearing lots of makeup.

Maybe it’s the thick layers of lipstick coating both of your lips, maybe it’s you, (or maybe it’s Maybelline, you chant in your head, cursing yourself that that damn expression got caught in your head) but by the time the two of you break apart to take heaving breaths, all your hard work has smeared around both of your faces.

Rose doesn’t seem to mind.

“Finally,” she says, smiling at you. It’s a different smile from the flirtatious ones you’ve seen before, a bit toothier. You notice some of your lipstick – or hers, you suppose. There’s not much difference between them anymore, anyway – has rubbed off on one of her teeth, and you decide not to mention it. “I was wondering when you’d get the hint.”

“You know, it really hasn’t been that long. I think you’re just impatient. Also, I don’t know what your idea of hints are, but I’d liken those comments to an elephant stampede rather than anything subtle. Really, were you trying to kill me?”

“I guess we’ll have to find out.”

“That’s a little ominous. You know you don’t always have to fill in the silences with something profound, right?”

“I find talking does rather ruin our quiet moments.”

“I think that’s pretty self-explan-“

“I can think of a few things I’d rather do with our mouths, wouldn’t you say, Kanaya?”

You initiate the kiss this time, and the next, and the next.

 

.

 

The first time Rose starts to let you in is when she meets your family. It’s not immediate, and it’s not expected.

She was just meant to come over to look at your makeup, as you had offered, but as soon as your mother heard she was coming over she made a three course meal for her. You had to set the table. Rose hadn’t objected, so the two of you had sat down after showing Rose your room and doing her makeup (and also kissing), and been vaguely interrogated by Dolores while she served food.

After everyone finished eating dinner, they remained seated at the family table. She’d discussed feminism with Porrim at large lengths, and broached the topic of motherhood with your mother, who had taken a great interest. Now you were relaxing and glad that Rose seemed comfortable.

As your mother rises to wash the dishes - and refuses to let anyone come help - Porrim leans over and whispers conspiringly to Rose.

You don’t hear everything, just something about alcohol, but then Porrim leaves the room and comes back with a bottle of wine. You’re pretty sure that your mom is going to kill you, but Porrim presses a finger to her lips and shushes you before you speak.

Rose accepts the glass given to her, and takes a few polite sips. Her finger curls around the rim, and she looks down into the drink. You refuse to drink anything, so Porrim takes the bottle with her and moves to the sofa instead.

Just as you’re feeling like maybe you can retreat to your room with Rose now, she abruptly stands up and politely explains that she needs to go touch up her makeup.

“She seems nice,” Porrim stage whispers, as Rose leaves.

“She is.”

“Mom seems to love her.”

You continue talking to your sister until you realise that probably too much time has passed for ‘touching up makeup’ to remain a legitimate excuse.

“-and so I said, Kankri, you reall-”

“I think I might go check on Rose.”

Porrim eyes you suspiciously. “Okay. Sure.”

“Maybe she needs to borrow some more of my lipstick?” It sounds like a pretty weak reason, even to you.

As you get up, you hear Porrim remark under her breath, “Or maybe she just wants to ‘borrow’ your lips.”

You ignore it. You have bigger things to think about.

As you’re in front of the bathroom door and about to knock, the door suddenly opens and a hand quickly pulls you in by the collar.

You look at Rose and see that her mascara has run down her face. You vaguely remember this being a Look in one of the recent fashion shows you watched – was Rose trying to emulate it?

“Rose?”

“Porrim and your mother saw you come find me, right?”

You nod instead of talking, sensing speed is a factor here.

“Okay, good. Excellent. They’ll think that you’ve come in here to make-out with me and won’t want to disturb us for fear of embarrassment.”

“Actually, Porrim would probably – wait, am I here to make-out with you?” It’s here that your brain catches up to you. “Rose, are you crying? Okay that is a stupid question because you are clearly crying, or at least you were previously crying and now have stopped. The more pertinent question to the matter at hand would be why are you crying?”

Rose smiles faintly at your words, but ignores your question.

“It doesn’t matter. Could you please bring me some makeup remover? Usually I wouldn’t be in this situation, as I wear waterproof eye-makeup, but I think I used the one I borrowed from you today. I don’t know why.” She looks away from you. “Sorry for dragging you into this. I’m usually much better at handling this alone, but desperate times call for desperate measures, unfortunately. I didn’t want to run into your mother while looking for your room and have to face her questions. Or her, really. She’s terribly kind, isn’t she? Besides, I don’t think it’s beneficial to cry with company – I’d say it’s not really a group activity.”

“Actually, if you’re crying at all, which I don’t want either but I suppose sometimes these things happen, I think it’s better not to be alone. But I’ll go get the makeup remover, okay?”

“Okay. Try not to be seen.”

You close the door gently behind you when you leave, and open it just as gently when you return.

She’s managed to wipe away most of the tear stains with a tissue and water, but the redness of her eyes is a giveaway.

“How do I look?”

“I think if I said beautiful it would be too corny for your sentiments.”

“Ha, ha, Kanaya. Can you still see that I’ve been crying?”

“Yes, unfortunately. Don’t worry, I’ve brought the tools to help!”

She eyes the phone in your hand warily.

“I figured we could watch some cat videos while we calm ourselves down. But after I remove your makeup.”

You bring out your cleansing oil and Rose pours some onto her hands, before rubbing it in circles on her cheeks. It looks therapeutic.

You end up staying in the bathroom with Rose for half an hour, which is way too long for any excuse whatsoever to remain legitimate, so you don’t explain yourselves. Dolores asks rather loudly if you could leave your bedroom door open, though, at which you can hear Porrim laughing.

 

.

 

You meet Rose’s family the week after. Rose doesn’t give you any tips, and thus you immediately make a social faux pas as soon as you walk in.

You step past the entrance of the large home, and into what you think is the living room, where a Rose-look-alike is playing video games.

“Is that your sister?” You whisper to Rose.

“Yes. Roxy.”

Roxy grins at you.

“Nice to meetcha, Kanaya.”

She leaps up and shakes your hand, before hugging you.

“Um. Hello.”

“So this is the girl I’ve been hearing so much about!”

“I could say the same for you,” you reply, letting go of her. “Rose seems very fond of you.”

Rose elbows you in the side as a response.

You wonder why no adults have come out to greet you.

“Rose, is your mother home?”

In the corner of your eye, Rose stands up straighter, and Roxy looks away from you.

You realise you’ve said something wrong.

“We’re not very close to our mother,” Roxy mutters.

“No,” Rose agreed rather primly. “The social services department didn’t seem to like her very much either.”

“Oh, I shouldn't have-”

“Don’t worry about it, ‘Naya,” Roxy smiled, waving the matter aside. You consider the nickname for a moment, and decide that it’s cute. “I think I’m enough family as it is!”

Rose allowed a small laugh, her tightened demeanour relaxing for a moment. You realise she must be concerned that you won’t like her sister. You may have underestimated the sheer importance of this meeting to her and decide to make an even more concentrated effort to befriend her and ease Rose’s worries. It’s not like it should be too hard - Roxy is being pretty welcoming.

“So, about that hot sister of yours,” Roxy begins, nudging you conspiratorially.

“Um,” you sputter.

“I don’t ‘spose you could hook me up with her number? I’ve been crushing on her for a lil.”

“Kanaya will give you Porrim’s number if you stop playing first person shooter games and join us for Scrabble, okay?”

“I didn’t actually agree to or set those terms, but sure, whatever. I’ll just be standing here silently.”

“Hush, I’ll give you the first turn.”

“With double points?”

“Yes, dear.”

“Suddenly I am perfectly satisfied with this turn of events. Everyone stop what you’re doing and get ready to be totally annihilated in Scrabble.”

Roxy pauses her screen just her player dies in an explosion. “I’m not sure Scrabble’s your game if you’re looking to be annihilated, but okay. Fair’s fair. And if I win you have to give me a gleaming recommendation to Porrim. Them’s the breaks, kid.”

“Prepare to lose both your dignity and any possible chance at reclaiming it.”

Rose finishes setting up and everyone picks letters, grinning at each other.

The game that followed was probably the most intense Kanaya had played, although Rose looked as if placing ‘acharya’ was commonplace. She also sometimes goofed off with the ‘W’ letter, and brought in made up words from wizard fanfiction, but overall played a valiant game. Roxy cheated and placed slang words, yet was surprisingly still in the running for first place despite their few letters.

You, however, end up winning. It is a sweet and short-lived victory involving Rose kissing you on the cheek and Roxy groaning.

It is short-lived because soon you notice your ravenous hunger just as your stomach growls audibly.

Rose and Roxy look at you.

“So,” you say, scratching the back of your neck. “What’s for dinner?”

Rose and Roxy look at each other.

“Uh. Rose?” Roxy says.

“Don’t look at me like that, I thought you had prepared it.”

“Welp, okay then. We have… a nutritious and delicious bowl of leftover two minute noodles.”

“And probably something else. A condiment perhaps? Milk?” Rose says as if the concept of having a complete dinner is a little new and bewildering to her.

“I’m pretty sure we have an onion somewhere.”

“Wow. Really?” you deadpan.

“Look, if you’re so great, why don’t you make us something?” Roxy says, looking for all the world as if she expected a three-course meal.

“I’m the guest.”

“A guest who isn’t up for a challenge? And after we went to all this effort. A shame. Don’t you think, Roxy?” Rose adds nonchalantly, checking her fingernails.

“I know exactly what you’re doing, okay. But fine, let me look around.”

You find a number for a take-out place on the bench, and some canned food in the cupboard. Unfortunately, it’s not the kind you can eat.

“There we go!” Roxy exclaims.

“I’m lactose-intolerant. And also vegetarian.”

“Wow, Kanaya. You’re really letting down the team here.”

“And here I was, thinking I was helping. I guess I better stop and let you two do it, then.”

“Noooo, wait! You’re totes perfect and I love you!” 

“Hmm.”

“Also your clothes are like, really pretty.”

“That will suffice.”

You look in another cupboard and see some mould growing on what you think is an apple. Or possibly an orange? In the freezer you find a sack of dry rice – you shoot Rose a look at this discovery, but she doesn’t seem to see anything wrong with its placement – and begin the process of thawing it.

The three of you play another game while waiting, and eventually you’re able to hack away at the grains until some fall apart in clumps. Granted, they’re bigger clumps than they’re meant to be, but you’ll manage. As you put the rice into a bowl, you realise you’re not exactly sure what to do next.

“Um.”

“What is it, Kanaya?”

“Well, you see, the thing is that my mother is an excellent cook.”

“Yes, she is.”

“She’s also very over-protective.”

“Where are you going with this?” Rose asks, her eyes narrowing.

“While I have helped her cook many things, I haven’t ever done the tasks she deems too dangerous. For example, boiling water. Or using a sharp knife. Or, really, any knife.”

“Well, fuck,” Roxy mutters. “We’re boned.”

“Look, we’re three university students, right? We should be able to figure this out, at the very least with our combined intellect.”

The three of you stare down at the chunks of rice with trepidation. Some grains are still frozen to each other, and the melted ice from the others is beginning to puddle.

“So who likes Chinese food?” Roxy asks, breaking the silence.

You and Rose sigh in relief, and eventually the food arrives and you all sit down and eat. Roxy had been the one to talk to the phone, and you were so glad that you weren’t the one that had to specify that there couldn’t be any dairy and basically inconvenience everyone in existence. Roxy brings out her 3DS and shows you her Pokémon while she eats, and you ignore the table manner faux pas in favour of admiring her team. You can’t figure out what strategy she’s using – you say as if you know any strategies - but they all seem to be pretty cute. She tells you with a grin that all Pokémon are ridiculously adorable.

You confess that you don’t really know much about the game, and she begins to explain to you the intricacies of the digital world, but Rose pulls you away.

“It’s getting late, Kanaya. I don’t want your mother to worry.”

You spare a look at Roxy’s grass Pokémon.

“You’re right, I’ll call Porrim to pick me up. If you want, Roxy,” you say teasingly, “I can ask her to come up to meet you.”

“Rose, I like her,” she says, grinning up at you. You grin back, and dial your sister’s number.

 

.

 

It’s a pretty uneventful evening, and Rose is lounging about on your sofa, legs propped up over your lap.

She seems to prefer hanging out at your place over hers, despite the fact that her house is larger and fancier. You don’t say anything about it, though. She’s on her phone scrolling through Facebook (She apparently did it for what she called an easier way to self-flagellate, at which you frowned.) You look over her shoulder and see relatives and 'friends' of hers posting various racist and sexist things.

Hmm.

“Here, look at this instead.”

 

You turn to her.

“Well?”

It seems Rose has set you up. You were too absorbed messaging her that you had failed to notice her sit up.

She is quite close to your face, you think, and remember the library.

“Rose, what did you think of me when we first met?"

“In the library? I thought I made my feelings pretty well known, to be honest.”

“I guess. Did you ever notice me in class?”

“Kanaya,” she says chidingly. “I watched cat videos for a week straight after you laughed at one of them.”

“Oh. I was wondering why you were watching so many of them.”

“I mean, I love cats as much as the next lesbian, but there’s a limit. Most of the time I wasn’t even focusing on them, just trying to hear if you had laughed again.” She pauses. “You never did.”

“Well,” you begin, feeling guilty, “I realized that you were distracting me. I made some effort to not let it happen again. It didn’t exactly work.”

“Distracting you, was I?”

Rose twists her body, sliding one leg to your other side and adjusting herself so that she is straddling you on the couch.

You really hope your mother doesn’t walk in.

“I always had the feeling that you liked my distractions. Was I wrong?”

Um. Wow. Okay, then. Rose is, certainly, leaning close to you. Yep.

“Sorry, what?” You say, absolutely not flustered at all.

“Nevermind, Kanaya. We don’t always need to use our words.”

And she closes the gap between you, and you hope that ‘I love you’ is somehow translated back to her with your lips.

**Author's Note:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9a52WcZ12CA
> 
> this is the fashion show they watched together btw (its v kanaya but the music/models kinda suck) (also i think there wasn't actually a step in the middle of the catwalk here, i confused it with another show)
> 
> i had about a billion and one ideas for this fic but a lot of them were just like 'rose and kanaya kiss' and 'rose and kanaya kiss some more', so its a miracle that i wrote this much tho im sorry it isn't longer
> 
> i hope you enjoy!
> 
> (im so sorry if there are typos in here i think i caught them all)


End file.
